Golden Numbers Part 59

Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, _The Lady of Shalott._

Who is this? and what is here, And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little s.p.a.ce; He said, "She has a lovely face; G.o.d in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

_The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolns.h.i.+re_

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three; "Pull, if ye never pulled before; Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he.

"Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells!

Play all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe 'The Brides of Enderby.'"

Men say it was a stolen tyde-- The Lord that sent it, He knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide The message that the bells let fall: And there was nought of strange, beside The flights of mews and peewits pied By millions crouched on the old sea wall.

I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song.

"Cusha! Cusha!" all along; Where the reedy Lindis floweth, Floweth, floweth, From the meads where melick groweth Faintly came her milking song.--

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, "For the dews will soone be falling; Leave your meadow gra.s.ses mellow, Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, From the clovers lift your head; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking shed."

If it be long, aye, long ago, When I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow, Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong; And all the aire it seemeth mee Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away The steeple towered from out the greene; And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Sat.u.r.day at eventide.

The swannerds where their sedges are Moved on in sunset's golden breath, The shepherde lads I heard afarre, And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth; Till floating o'er the gra.s.sy sea Came downe that kyndly message free, The "Brides of Mavis Enderby."

Then some looked uppe into the sky, And all along where Lindis flows To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows.

They sayde, "And why should this thing be, What danger lowers by land or sea?

They ring the tune of Enderby!

"For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down; For s.h.i.+ppes ash.o.r.e beyond the scorpe, They have not spared to wake the towne: But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring 'The Brides of Enderby'?"

I looked without, and lo! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main: He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)

"The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place."

He shook as one that looks on death: "G.o.d save you, mother!" straight he saith; "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?"

"Good sonne, where Lindis winds away With her two bairns I marked her long; And ere yon bells beganne to play Afar I heard her milking song."

He looked across the gra.s.sy sea, To right, to left, "Ho Enderby!"

They rang "The Brides of Enderby!"

With that he cried and beat his breast; For lo! along the river's bed A mighty eygre reared his crest, And uppe the Lindis raging sped.

It swept with thunderous noises loud; Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout-- Then beaten foam flew round about-- Then all the mighty floods were out.

So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat, Before a shallow seething wave Sobbed in the gra.s.ses at oure feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea.

Upon the roofe we sate that night, The noise of bells went sweeping by: I marked the lofty beacon light Stream from the church tower, red and high-- A lurid mark and dread to see; And awsome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang "Enderby."

They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And I--my sonne was at my side.

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed; And yet he moaned beneath his breath, "O come in life, or come in death!

O lost! my love, Elizabeth."

And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear.

Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

That flow strewed wrecks about the gra.s.s, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!

To manye more than myne and me: But each will mourn his own (she saith) And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lindis sh.o.r.e, "Cusha, Cusha, Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews be falling; I shall never hear her song, "Cusha, Cusha!" all along, Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Goeth, floweth; From the meads where melick groweth.

When the water winding down, Onward floweth to the town.

I shall never see her more Where the reeds and rushes quiver.

s.h.i.+ver, quiver; Stand beside the sobbing river, Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling, To the sandy lonesome sh.o.r.e; I shall never hear her calling, "Leave your meadow gra.s.ses mellow, Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow; Lightfoot, Whitefoot, From your clovers lift the head; Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking shed."

JEAN INGELOW.

_The Forsaken Merman_

Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below.

Now my brothers call from the bay; Now the great winds sh.o.r.eward blow; Now the salt tides seaward flow; Now the wild white horses play, Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.

Children dear, let us away, This way, this way!

Call her once before you go.

Call once yet, In a voice that she will know: "Margaret! Margaret!"

Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear: Children's voices wild with pain.

Surely she will come again.

Call her once, and come away.

This way, this way!

"Mother dear, we cannot stay."

The wild white horses foam and fret, Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down.

Call no more.

One last look at the white-walled town, And the little gray church on the windy sh.o.r.e, Then come down.

She will not come though you call all day.

Come away, come away.

Children dear, was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay?

In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell?